


Home

by define_serenity



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Break Up, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-22
Updated: 2014-10-22
Packaged: 2018-02-22 05:23:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2496023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/define_serenity/pseuds/define_serenity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been three weeks since Blaine and Sebastian broke up, and time has lost its meaning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home

**Author's Note:**

> Noooo idea where this came from. Inspired by [this gifset](http://russell-garfield.tumblr.com/post/42374008448).

In only three weeks, time has lost its meaning; he can no longer see it in terms of one clearly defined section following the other, seconds, minutes, hours, all blending into one big confusing mess. Hours, days, three weeks, and what does he have to show for it? He thought things would get easier, that once he shed the weight of a relationship that wasn’t doing him any good he’d relocate some sense of equilibrium, but like many other certainties in his life up has become down, left has shifted to right, and shaky ground is pretty much all he has.

He had something solid up until recently, a relationship, a boyfriend he could count on to be there when he needed him, someone to cuddle up to late at night after a long day of classes and rehearsals, who made him breakfast when he felt like it, doted on him with expensive dinners from time to time, who kissed the back of his neck every time he slid into bed with him and he was already asleep, kissed his forehead and his lips and every other part of his body until he solidified into frenzy … someone who forgot their anniversary, neglected to do the grocery shopping, never helped him with the dishes, couldn’t make up his mind what take-out to get so it was always always always up to him.

Sure, it was solid, a steady guy combined with a stressful college education and a crappy job on the side. But it didn’t withstand the succession of earthquakes that had shook up their lives these past few months; he got the chance of a lifetime performing with June Dolloway, but that meant being away from home even more frequently, coming home to a boyfriend who tucked in early to be ready for his morning classes; Sebastian caught the internship of his dreams at a big newspaper and spent a lot of time commuting and working on articles; and on the precipice of yet another fight their landlord came to inform them that their lease was up, and they needed to decide if they wanted to renew it, or move out.

And they’d called it quits. Just like that, an hour-long conversation put an end to their almost two-year relationship. They parted ways, divided the spoils, and had barely spoken since, even though he’d caught glimpses of Sebastian at school.

For three weeks he’d been crashing on Sam and Mercedes’ couch, and even though they assured him he was anything but an inconvenience, he felt like an elephant in a china store, a fire hazard, a tiny ant lost in a maze meant to confuse and intimidate.

He’d been through break-ups before, but nothing quite like this.

 _You broke up for the wrong reasons_ , Sam and Mercedes agreed; _You’re both two flaming idiots,_ Santana offered her two cents, and no one ever thought about him, no one ever asked what happened, because sometimes in the loneliest parts of the darkest New York nights not even he believed _it was for the best_.

They didn’t break up because they stopped loving each other, or because it stopped working.

They broke up because they _gave up_.

And he can't decide what hurts the most, knowing that he willfully let a good thing slip through his fingers, that he's not doing anything to fix it because their circumstances haven't changed, they're still incredibly busy and the fighting wouldn't change, or that Sebastian's out there thinking the same things, stuck between moving on and making a move. Either way the past three weeks have become a black hole sucking the life out of everything he thought meant the most to him; his friends make him laugh but he's not happy, he shines on the stage but the applause fails to fill him with its usual ecstasy, he loves his classes but every homework assignment makes his head swim with all the things he could be doing, should be saying, feelings he could be acting on.

Seeing Sebastian at school never helps, it merely sets into motion a series of recollections that make him want to curl around a tub of Chunky Monkey and not leave the house for a week. The problem is Sebastian still looked like coming home, that completely self-satisfied moment of walking through a door and realizing he was exactly where he needed to be. Right now home felt like a concept he was cheated out of, hidden somewhere in the distance between his body and Sebastian's and he wants it back. He wants to go home.

Every time his eyes meet Sebastian's in the hallway though, or across the vast expanse of the cafeteria, they both seemingly decide that they left home behind for a reason, and the broken pieces of that sudden move weren't healed nearly enough for them to orbit close to it.

Until one fatal day, three and a half weeks and hazily counting, they find themselves face to face in one of the hallways, Sebastian exiting the classroom he's set to meet one of his tutors. His breath hitches in his throat and anxiety settles unkind in the lining of his stomach, pinned to the floor.

“Hey, you,” Sebastian says, his voice calm and steady, while his lips twitch with signature unease.

“Hi.”

He stares down at where Sebastian's hand wires around the strap of his shoulder bag, his fingers chewed into raw stumps, and a voice screams _TELL HIM!_ over and over, his mind trying to enumerate all the nights he cried himself to sleep over this boy, over losing his home, over loving so blindly he might as well gouge his eyes out.

“How've you been?”

He looks up to meet Sebastian's eyes, but they're focused on his hands now, growing increasingly sweatier.

“I'm lost,” he confesses to everyone who's interested in hearing it – if he keeps it bottled up any longer it'll drive him mad, it'll poison his skin and all the tissue underneath until it's all that keeps him standing.

“I know,” Sebastian says softly, his green ones sad and despondent with an expression he's never seen him wear. “I feel the same way.”

It's almost comforting to hear, how a break-up hasn't disconnected all their mutual unbecoming, and they now share the same razor-sharp pain hollowing out their bones. Almost.

“I want you back, Blaine.”

The hollow booms with the sound of thunder, lightning illuminating the path they've walked together up until now, their footprints running adjacent alongside it. Has Sebastian fallen into the same black hole he has, has the universe lost meaning without a solid foundation to fall back on, without the logic that up should stay up there and left will always make him turn the same way? Were they the flaming idiots Santana claimed them to be?

He nods solemnly, hope and despair stringing together into a twister inside his heart. He doesn't know what to think, they broke up for a reason and even if it'd been the wrong one it drove a wedge between them – they didn't work unless they both fought for what they wanted. And three and a half weeks ago they decided they weren't worth the trouble.

“I want _us_ back.”

The quiet nights in, curled around each other like they were one home together and nothing else mattered, sweet kisses behind his ear and a hand tentatively undoing the buttons on his shirt; the lavish dinners out, three-course meals on Sebastian's dime and the most attentive boy sitting across from him; the fights that never lasted long; forgiving words extended because the love he had for Sebastian was the good kind of hurt so many people chased but rarely found.

Yet somehow that all buckled underneath the pressure.

“Sebastian–” he sighs, defeated, but he'd rather not say anything. He'd rather sink into the warm promise of home rather than remind both of them that the pressure hasn't let up. They work, but maybe not right now.

“I'm gonna fight for you this time, killer.” Sebastian steals a step closer. “Think about it.”

His lips part in a protest that doesn’t come, Sebastian’s words scaffolding to divide the pressure between two pairs of shoulders, groundwork for a new set of foundations. A new home.

Maybe. Maybe they can give it another shot.

“Okay,” he whispers.

 

 

**\- FIN -**

 


End file.
